WHOSE EYE
Whose eye now rests unblinking?
These sorrowful scattered things.
Whose perfect recollection
Recites names and causes?
Who knows and can name
The wide, free roads to destruction?
Is it that there is only ever one timeless voice,
Bright-browed and sharply bitter,
A wormwood for awakening?
Slew the game and shift the form,
It can never break from the following cloud.
The storm crow cries,
Carrion falls to feed new flocks.
Day and night is his mouth.
Dawn and sunset, dusk and midnight.
They are dreaming
Who listen to that song
Dreaming it is their dream alone.
There is peace beneath
The storm of words.
One world anchoring
The roaring others.
Gather back your souls, lost and scattered.
From this forest undergrowth.
From the peeling skies.
From the long dust roads.
Gather them in the heart of a song
That will not brook nor break.
One season returning with bright fruit.
One prayer reaching the throne of the Creator.
All this is the debris of glory.
The gold that feeds the gods-
These autumn grasses are brighter,
These few days, more precious.
—
simonhlilly 
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